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Back The Man With No Face
Chapters (45)
  1. The Man With No Face
  2. Also by
  3. Title
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Contents
  8. INTRODUCTION
  9. CHAPTER ONE
  10. CHAPTER TWO
  11. CHAPTER THREE
  12. CHAPTER FOUR
  13. CHAPTER FIVE
  14. CHAPTER SIX
  15. CHAPTER SEVEN
  16. CHAPTER EIGHT
  17. CHAPTER NINE
  18. CHAPTER TEN
  19. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  20. CHAPTER TWELVE
  21. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  23. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  25. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  26. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  27. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

‘Oh. Yes.’ Platt struggled out of his coat and draped it over a chair before drawing a large folded envelope from his inside jacket pocket and passing it to Bannerman. He crossed to the electric fire and rubbed his hands together in front of it, before easing himself into a chair. He ran a dry tongue over wet, purple lips and glanced longingly again at the bottle of malt. ‘I got most of what I needed on Jansen from a series the Soir ran on him about six months ago. I’ve done you a précis of the relevant details in English. There was some stuff on Lapointe as well, but not in the same detail. He keeps a much lower profile than Jansen.’

Bannerman sank into the settee and looked at his watch. It was just after ten. He dropped the envelope on to the coffee table without looking inside it. ‘Tell me the salient details. I haven’t time to read this stuff just now. I’m going out again shortly.’

Platt made no attempt to hide his irritation. ‘When are you going to come clean with me, Bannerman?’

‘All in good time, Platt.’ He paused. ‘Did you make your second edition?’

Platt’s lips tightened. ‘Yes, I made it. But the paper was fifteen minutes late going to press and I got a right roasting.’ Bannerman couldn’t resist a smile, which only annoyed Platt further. The old reporter glanced again at the bottle. ‘How about a drink, Bannerman? You owe me that much at least. Take the chill out of my bones.’

Bannerman said, ‘Alcohol accelerates loss of body heat. Help yourself.’

‘Glasses?’

‘In the kitchen.’

When it became clear that Bannerman wasn’t going to go and get them, Platt heaved himself reluctantly out of his chair and went in search of them himself.

Bannerman listened to the sound of Platt clattering noisily in the kitchen and remembered encountering him for the first time all those years before at the weekly paper where he had got his first job.

Platt had been there for years. He knew it all, or thought he did, and breathed whisky and contempt on a succession of keen young news-hounds passing through on their way to better things. He had been a lonely individual even then. A widower. Embittered by all the opportunities in life that had passed him by. At first he had poured his scorn on this newcomer too, but as he had come to recognize that Bannerman was different, and set on a career trajectory that would leave Platt wallowing in his wake, he had done everything he could to make life even more difficult.